


The Embraceable Yakov Feltsman in Six Stories of Hugs

by tenser



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Five (Six) Times, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness, Pre (and Post) Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenser/pseuds/tenser
Summary: Most skaters consider Yakov an unapproachable, unpleasant man. He’s potentially the least-huggable individual in all of ice skating. Until Victor Nikiforov proves this wrong.
Relationships: Yakov Feltsman & Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	The Embraceable Yakov Feltsman in Six Stories of Hugs

Most skaters consider Yakov an unapproachable, unpleasant man. A means to an end, and a comically Soviet caricature from his outdated shoes to his ridiculous pointy hat. His temper is legendary, and perhaps that’s why he’s never been one of Russia’s top coaches. According to most skaters he’s a second-rate coach and a smelly, angry bear of a man. 

He’s potentially the least-huggable individual in all of ice skating. 

Until Victor Nikiforov proves this wrong.

Yakov meets Victor at a private audition. As the old coach watches the young skater glide over the ice, he sees unmistakable genius. It’s there in the unconscious flair underpinning the boy’s every fluid jump. It’s there in the half-smile he wears as he effortlessly flits through step sequences. The potency of the boy’s talent sends shivers, both excited and wary, down Yakov’s spine.

After the lovely routine, Victor skates up to Yakov, his eyes bright and face beaming with the full version of that confident half-smile. His silvery hair, pulled back in a ponytail, bobs with the powerful pumping of his slim thighs. His face is pale as his hair but flushed pink with exertion as he skids to a stop in front of the aging Russian trainer.

“Did you like my skating?” Victor says happily, as if he’s speaking as a performer to a smitten audience rather than as an aspiring skater to a potential coach who can make or break his career. 

Yakov frowns at the boy’s fearlessness. Victor already has complete confidence that he’ll reach the top level of skating—Yakov can either be along for the ride or not. The coach narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. He doesn’t like being challenged like this, but that talent and that bright smile—he can’t pass them up. He’s watched talented skaters rise and fall for five decades, and he’s never been their coach.

He chooses to be along for the ride. 

“When you train under me, you’ll listen to what I say,” Yakov says sternly. “Can you do that?”

Victor blinks, and smiles so very perfectly that Yakov can tell he believes the lie himself. “Of course.” Then the small skater throws his arms around Yakov for a congratulatory hug before darting back onto the ice. 

It’s just the first of Victor’s many hugs, and lies, that Yakov falls for. 

***

Many coaches hug their athletes when they step off the ice during a competition. Some have got the friendly arm-sling mastered, some engage in messy, full blown hugs with tears. As a rule, Yakov provides thoughtful, wholesome lectures instead. 

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” Yakov froths as Victor steps haltingly toward the kiss and cry. “You changed the composition of the program!”

Teenaged Victor is breathless, hand coming up to rest on his heaving side. It’s clear he left everything on the ice as he stumbles along the concourse surrounding the rink. And yet he looks up at Yakov with a beaming smile. 

“But I landed all my jumps.”

“It’s not what you practiced!” Yakov bellows. He continues his lecture as the odd pair slump into the seats of the kiss and cry. “You can’t just change your routine like that! Because you haven’t practiced that triple-double combo, your leg position was all wrong!”

Victor simply laughs, and his ebullience has Yakov seething. But he puts a lid on his fuming anger as they sit waiting for the scores because their images are being broadcast to the half-filled arena, and although it’s just junior regionals, squabbling isn’t the image Yakov wants associated with Victor. 

When high scores come up, Victor laughs and hugs Yakov. Despite the scores, it’s not a congratulatory hug. 

The skater’s body is shaking, and his slight weight collapses against Yakov’s much larger figure. Victor’s arms linger longer than expected; his face presses full and hard against Yakov’s chest. Despite the seemingly celebratory timing, it’s clear that the prodigy is instead seeking safety and comfort. Victor went beyond his limits answering some call to greatness inside himself—and it scared him.

Too quickly, Victor pulls away and stands up, his smile plastered back on. Yakov gets up too, grimace set despite the new protectiveness he feels.

Victor gets gold. And he gets another lecture from Yakov, plus tougher practices. 

But Yakov wonders if he should have hugged back. 

***

“Victor Nikiforov will be the death of you,” Lilia states. 

Yakov and his ex-wife have met up for coffee in one of their favorite cafes. Just because they’re not married anymore doesn’t mean they can’t be involved in each other’s lives. After all, they still have much in common as coaches and mentors to the newest generation of Russian athletes. 

“Ahh, he’s given me a few new wrinkles,” Yakov admits. He finds it hard to be negative around Lilia, who despite her severity or perhaps because of it, inspires a certain magnanimity in Yakov. 

“There’s a stoop to your form, and a slowness to your movements,” Lilia says. “And you’ve got so many lines on your face it’s like a well-worn road in the snow.”

“L-lilia!” Yakov says, aghast that he’s aged so drastically in her eyes, but also flattered that she’s spared his motley appearance enough attention to notice the change. 

“What has Victor done now? Are the rumors true that you’ve lost control of him and he’s gone to Japan to coach?” Lilia puts down her cup with painfully adept grace.

Yakov sips his coffee to avoid answering for a moment. “Yes,” he finally replies. 

“His English is very good, you should have been more prepared for something like this,” Lilia says. Her eyes flash and Yakov hates to admit how much he wants to simply agree with her. But he knows Victor better than probably anyone on the planet and he can’t agree that Victor truly wanted to leave Russia. Or him.

“He’s just playing at being a coach, it’s not serious,” Yakov says, hoping he’s not wrong. Then he admits something to the one person on the planet who knows him better than anyone. “He was unhappy.”

Lilia gives him an eye like it’s Yakov’s fault that Victor became restless and empty after winning five world championships. This is where the two of them differ fundamentally—Yakov believes he cannot change an athlete’s emotional makeup. Lilia believes she can. 

“He’ll be back when he’s done playing,” Yakov grumbles.

“Only because you are too soft,” Lilia says, this time she’s the one sipping her coffee to hide her expression. “You’ve coddled him to the point where no one else will do. For that I suppose your skill should be acknowledged.”

“He just does what he wants,” Yakov complains, but there’s no bite to his words. 

After their conversation ends and Lilia departs the cafe, he returns to his apartment. She’s left him with the urge to call Victor and chew him out. Yakov may not be able to alleviate the ennui of a champion, but he can at least speak his mind on the matter. He picks up his cell phone, and scrolls to Victor’s number. He hesitates, then puts the phone back into the wide pockets of his greatcoat. It wouldn’t be right to call after all, because this isn’t really about skating, and he doesn’t know how to talk to Victor about anything else. 

What he never got around to telling Lilia was how much he misses Victor. 

Misses berating him, misses Victor’s effortless indulgence of his own talent, misses being hugged by him—that final embrace in the snow just before Victor flew to Hasetsu better not be the last time he gets to feel his skater’s arms around him. He would kill Victor.

Looking at his empty apartment, he understands all too well why Victor is unhappy. He knows from watching top athletes over the better part of a century how the spotlight can alienate and isolate. He knows what solitude increasingly lurks underneath Victor’s beaming smile, the shadow underneath the light. 

He knows there’s no way he can fill that emptiness inside Victor, not with every hug in the world, despite how much as he might have fancied himself the person who could sustain Victor. He thought he could provide something for Lilia too, and see how that went?

Yakov sighs. He didn’t tell Lilia how much he missed her either. 

***

Yuri Plisetsky’s feisty cat is actually less prickly than the skater himself.

The fifteen-year-old now living with Yakov shows no inclination towards hugging. All he really shows are the inclinations of a normal teenage boy—towards music, flashy things, irritability. 

Nevertheless, Yakov isn’t disappointed. It’s the opposite. He’s supremely grateful that the boy brought he and Lilia back together. He cannot tell her how happy he is that he’s living as if with family, even if just temporarily. Lilia does not make any attempt to be intimate with him, obviously, but her presence begins to heal and straighten Yakov. Her presence is a form of caring stronger than any embrace Lilia could offer at this stage in their lives. 

Although he’d take her embrace too…

As if sensing his thoughts, Lilia gives him a sharp look over her coffee. 

Yuri, also sitting at the table, smirks at Yakov’s shame, since the ungrateful brat has no filter or manners. 

Yakov is never going to get another hug at this rate.

***

Yuuri Katsuki is a stealth hugger. 

Yakov doesn’t expect Yuuri to throw his arms around him in the kiss and cry at the Rostelecom Cup, but of course he accepts the embrace anyway, like the softie that he is. It’s a solid hug, imparted with strong arms and an incongruous blank expression. Yuuri nestles his head exactly where Victor would, pressing against an ache in Yakov’s chest that won’t heal. 

The old coach lets himself be held. He wants to help the misguided Japanese skater. Victor’s seduction-based coaching is embarrassingly amateurish, and Yakov wishes he could get a few good practices in with Yuuri, if only to teach him to plan for the possibility of missing jumps. It’s something Victor clearly hasn’t thought to coach. After all, Victor’s never failed a jump in his life. 

Yakov grits his teeth. He won’t say anything bad about Victor to Yuuri, not only because it would be unprofessional, but because the two skaters are obviously in love with each other. Finally witnessing the relationship between Yuuri and Victor in person gives Yakov hope that it might not be that much longer before tides shift, the current coaching arrangement goes away, and he gets a flood of his Vitya’s hugs.

In the mean time, he’ll accept Yuuri Katsuki’s hug.

***

Yakov is waiting in the baggage claim area for Victor’s return to Russia. 

He hears the laughing voice of his skater before he sees the man strolling along with Yuuri Katsuki and his dog Maccachin. Yuuri notices Yakov first and he freezes, no doubt recalling the hugfest he initiated the last time they saw each other. Victor follows his fiance’s line of sight to Yakov.

“Yakov!” he says excitedly. He walks quickly towards his once and future coach.

The anger wells up unbidden in Yakov despite his best intentions. 

_Victor, you fool!_

_Get to the rink, you’ve got no time to waste if you’re going to get back into shape!_

_How dare you leave your coach!_

But he swallows that all down. With a few heavy paces he’s moving forward towards Victor. He surprises the younger man with a massive bear hug. 

Yakov allows for no protest or squirming, and Victor quickly relaxes and basks in his coach’s embrace. Yakov basks right back, enjoying the younger man’s body, real and healthy and present. Smells the expensive shampoo Victor uses to keep his locks in extraordinary condition. His little Vitya is here, in his arms.

The embrace lasts longer than either expects, and finally Victor pulls back. 

“I missed you, Yakov,” Victor says, and for once it’s not a sweet lie. It’s somehow—and this is a miracle coming from Victor—a sweet truth. 

“Then why did you bother leaving at all?” Yakov grumbles. That’s it, he’s said it. He can’t bear to wait for a response, and he doubts Victor could explain his actions anyway. “Everything you’ve forgotten I’m going to have to re-teach you, idiot.” 

“I look forward to it!” Victor smiles. 

Yakov smiles. He’s looking forward to it too.

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to Six Views of a Snowglobe, which also furthers the Yakov&Victor agenda :D The works are virtually identical thematically and structurally, and were written at the same time three years before this posting. Step one of working through a huge backlog of fics.


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